


Royal, Royal

by heondreds



Category: TOMORROW X TOGETHER | TXT (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Sleeping Beauty Fusion, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Blood, Character Death, Injury, M/M, Magic, Non-Graphic Smut, Violence, off-brand again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:54:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28893972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heondreds/pseuds/heondreds
Summary: He’s going home, they say, except this isn’t his home. His home is back in the woods, with the trees and the animals, with his aunts. With Yeonjun.A fire burns hot under Beomgyu’s skin and he vows he’s going to get it all back.
Relationships: Choi Beomgyu/Choi Yeonjun, Choi Beomgyu/Kang Taehyun, Choi Soobin/Kang Taehyun
Comments: 21
Kudos: 65





	Royal, Royal

**Author's Note:**

> loosely inspired by sleeping beauty, but with less sleeping and way more blood
> 
> pairs well with kim wooseok - sinphony 🍷

Beomgyu is going to be sick.

_“-must be so happy, darling, aren’t you so lucky-”_

He can’t quite breathe, nails digging into his palms.

_“-dream come true, isn’t it? You’re a-”_

He’s a prince.

He’s a prince, and he’s betrothed to another prince, one from another kingdom. His quiet, comfortable life, out in the woods with his aunts, has been a lie. He knows the women who raised him aren’t his blood relatives - they’ve never hidden _that_ from him, at least. But they’re his family, always have been. He thought they always would be.

_“-wanted to tell you sooner, darling, but it wasn’t safe-”_

They say he was cursed as a child. They won’t tell him what the curse was, why it was so serious he had to be separated from his birth parents, exiled from his old home. But it doesn’t matter, anyway. The curse lasted until his eighteenth birthday, and that was yesterday.

He’d spent the day with Yeonjun, the older boy from the neighboring cabin deeper into the woods. They’d played in the river, laughter echoing through the trees. They’d eaten berries from the bushes and stained their fingers red and purple. And Yeonjun had pushed him down on the riverbank and kissed him breathless, and water had seeped into his clothes and pebbles had dug into his back but it hadn’t mattered because Yeonjun was warm and soft and whole on top of him.

Yeonjun had given him a gift, too. A wooden box, intricately carved with roses and thorns, slim and beautiful.

Then the sun rose the next day, and he had survived the curse. Now he’s leaving, carting off to the city, to the castle right at its center, because that’s what he was always meant to do. He’s been betrothed since he was a baby, and now that they’re both of age and he is free from the curse, there’s nothing stopping him returning to his old life. Nothing stopping them from getting married. He has ten minutes to pack.

  
  
  


Yeonjun is waiting in Beomgyu’s room when he drags himself upstairs. It’s usually a relief to see the older boy, a comfort, but today it stings.

“Did you know?” Beomgyu asks. He’s known Yeonjun almost his whole life, never questioned or doubted his presence, his friendship, his loyalty.

“Yes,” Yeonjun says, plain and simple, and it twists in Beomgyu’s chest like a knife. “I couldn’t tell you.”

“You could have.”

“No. They would have killed me.”

He’s been holding it back for a while now, desperate to stay strong, indifferent or petulant in front of his aunts, but he can’t hold it back anymore. Beomgyu bursts into tears.

Yeonjun is by him in an instant, arms around him, pulling him in tight. He pets at his hair and coos softly into his ear, and Beomgyu thinks he’s still mad, still angry and betrayed, but clutches to his hyung all the same.

“It’s going to be fine,” Yeonjun says. “This is what you were born to do.”

“It isn’t,” Beomgyu sniffles, to both remarks. “I’m meant to be here, with you.”

“This was always temporary.”

“Not to me.”

Yeonjun sighs, bitter and sad. “Just try it. It’s fate, isn’t it? Destiny. You might be happy.”

He doesn’t say _‘you have to do it, you have no choice’_ , but Beomgyu hears it anyway. He pulls back, looks up at Yeonjun, gaze adamant, unyielding even through his tears.

“I’ll come back,” he says. “I’ll come back to you.”

Yeonjun nods, taps his fingers under Beomgyu’s chin and pulls him in for a kiss. It’s too short, too light, but it feels like a promise.

“I’ll be waiting.”

  
  
  


Two minutes later, the guards arrive. He doesn’t have time to pack, after all. It’s not like he’ll need anything anyway. If he’s a prince, what use would he have for his peasant clothes, his homemade blankets, the knick-knacks he’s made and found over the years? What could he bring that wouldn’t be immediately replaced by something finer, more expensive, actually fitting for someone of his status?

He takes the box, though. Yeonjun passes it to him as they hear footsteps on the stairs, tells him to keep it safe, only use it when he absolutely needs to. Beomgyu thinks he might need to use it now, but nods instead, slips it under his coat, feels its hard edges dig into his ribs and hopes it might bruise.

The guards aren’t kind. They swarm into the room like aphids, armor shimmering red and black, and lay their hands on Beomgyu. Others tear Yeonjun away from him like he’s a threat, forcing him down to the ground, their cruel armor-plated boots kicking him in the stomach to stop him from struggling. Then Beomgyu is moving, dragged through the door and away from his home, his life, his everything.

His last glance back shows Yeonjun on his knees, arms pinned up and back, spread out like wings. He’s panting, gasping for the breath the guards have knocked out of him, but he still meets Beomgyu’s panicked gaze and smiles.

  
  
  


He’s going home, they say, except this isn’t his home. He hasn’t been to the place since he was a baby, has no memory of ever even setting foot in the city before. His home is back in the woods, with the trees and the animals, with his aunts. With Yeonjun.

The wedding is tomorrow.

His arrival at the castle is quiet. He’s ushered in through a back entrance, away from the prying eyes of the population who have gathered to see their returned prince. His first look at the castle is dim, utilitarian, the winding, labyrinthine corridors of the servant’s quarters. The guards walk him through the maze, cold and suffocating. Impenetrable.

The corridor spits out into a foyer, then the light turns bright, blinding as he is marched into a grand hall, the kind of room Beomgyu has only ever seen in storybooks. It’s huge, unfathomably so, far larger than his entire cabin, vast and empty. He is led straight in, flanked by guards across the entire length of the room, and then he’s face to face with the king and queen.

He looks at these people - his mother, his father. They can’t be. Except he can see himself in the shape of his father’s eyes, the soft curve of his mother’s smile. It’s uncomfortable, uncanny. He can’t look at them for too long.

They embrace him, tears rolling down their cheeks, and he feels nothing for them.

There’s someone else with them, a boy around his age and height. He stands apart from them during their nominal reunion, but when his father pulls back, he pushes the boy forward. The prince.

The prince is handsome. He has big eyes and a tight jaw and red hair that makes Beomgyu think of the apples that grew near the foot of the steep hill, makes him think of the autumn where the soil was too dry and the fruit turned sour. His name is Taehyun, and he bows in greeting, stiff and measured.

(Beomgyu allows himself the vain thought that _it could be worse_ \- if he has to marry, at least he gets a good-looking husband.)

The prince leads him through the castle, up to the chambers he’s been staying in for the past few days, waiting for Beomgyu to arrive. The true corridors of the castle are adorned with paintings and tapestries, gold gilding, opulence that makes Beomgyu’s skin crawl. Taehyun doesn’t look out of place at all, surrounded by these displays of wealth.

“I don’t like you,” Beomgyu spits, the first real words he says to his betrothed.

“I don’t know you,” Taehyun replies, shrugging. He holds the door open for Beomgyu, ushers him into the bedroom - their bedroom, now. Beomgyu feels his lip snarling.

“I don’t want to marry you. I’m not supposed to be here.”

Taehyun nods, door falling shut behind him. His attention is elsewhere, gaze sweeping over the furniture, already bored by Beomgyu’s rebellion.

“I don’t need you to want me. I have someone else, anyway,” the prince says. “You don’t have to like me, you just have to marry me tomorrow. I don’t care what you do after that.”

Taehyun takes a seat at the desk, the chair high-backed and rigid, and he twists around to face Beomgyu, stood sulking in the middle of the room. He sighs. “In the end, if you love me, I’ll love you back. But don’t force yourself. Don’t insult me.”

And he turns back around, picks up his pen, puts it to paper. Beomgyu is dismissed.

It should hurt, his rejection. It should sting, but instead it burns hot, almost comfortable. The prince is different, at least. Maybe not the adversary, the obstacle Beomgyu had expected him to be. Almost, he feels like an ally.

  
  
  


The morning comes far too soon. They slept apart last night, Taehyun lying stiffly next to him until the candles burnt out, then he disappeared out into the dark hallways and didn’t return. Beomgyu didn’t sleep well anyway, with or without him. The bed was too soft, sheets unnaturally silky, unreal under his fingertips; the room too big, expansive, expensive. He spent the night suffocated by all the wide, open space, the waste of it all.

He’s woken by strangers, more strangers in the room, streaming in like the sunlight through the windows and tearing him from the bed. There are hands stripping him down, washing, cleansing, primping, preparing, posing him like a doll. He doesn’t argue, doesn’t struggle against their grip. These people are only doing their job, just like him.

They dress him again, clothes as fine as the bedsheets and just as uncomfortable. He doesn’t look in the mirror when they’re finished. This isn’t him, anyway.

The wedding proceeds immediately. Taehyun looks handsome, almost shockingly so, when they meet again at the altar. His eyes are wide and alert, focused and controlled. He strikes Beomgyu as professional. Regal. Beomgyu sets his shoulders back, stands up straight, follows the prince’s lead. Fulfilling his duty.

He doesn’t look out into the hall, at the guests here to witness it all. He supposes he could be shocked, at how many people could show up on such short notice, but he has to clench his jaw as he realizes it wasn’t short notice for them. For _him_ , this is all new, far too sudden, but it’s something these strangers have been anticipating for years, for his whole life, just waiting for him to _come home_.

His jaw is still tight as Taehyun leans forward, big eyes searching his own, communicating clearly. Their lips barely brush.

Afterward, there’s a feast. Beomgyu doesn’t eat. He sits next to the people calling themselves his parents, a way away from Taehyun, and swallows saliva against the roiling of his stomach. His mother strokes his hair, says how proud she is of him, what a magical day it’s been, how happy she is. How long she’s been waiting for him to return. His father lays a hand on his shoulder, grips hard and tells him _not to make any mistakes_.

Back in the bedroom, Beomgyu’s nerves flare up, tight and red and angry. He knows what happens on the wedding night, another obligation he has to fill. He crosses his arms.

“So how does this work? Do you fuck me or do I fuck you?”

Taehyun snorts. “We don’t have to fuck at all. No one’s going to check in on us.”

His slender fingers are working open the buttons on his shirt, deft and practiced. Everything about the prince is so precise, actions as sharp as his words. He sits down on the bed, pure grace, crosses his legs at the ankles, leans back.

Then he looks up at Beomgyu, cold and vast and open. His lips are red. “But you can fuck me, if you want.”

  
  
  


It helps, a little bit, having Taehyun on his hands and knees under him, perfect body flushed and sweating. Beomgyu isn’t gentle, but Taehyun doesn’t ask him to be. He seems able to take anything Beomgyu can give, gasping and whining and moaning, and it’s impressive, but it isn’t quite enough. He wants it to hurt.

He sinks his teeth into the prince’s shoulder, into his husband’s shoulder, and the blood that pops onto his tongue is relief, control.

  
  
  


A crow lands outside their window that night, wood cracking under its talons.

Beomgyu ties up his letter, fastens it to the bird and watches it fly away, far away, until he loses its silhouette against the black sky.

  
  
  


“I’m leaving,” Beomgyu says.

He’s completed the marriage, he’s a royal prince, he’s joined the kingdoms. His job is done.

Taehyun barely looks up from his book.

“Okay.”

He picks up the small knapsack filled with things he’d swiped from the feast yesterday, provisions for the long walk back, and sets off.

He makes it through the castle, out into the courtyard, down to the main gate. The guards let him through, but he’s not two steps outside before a hand wraps around his bicep.

“Let me go.”

“Can’t let you leave. Royal orders.”

“I’m a royal, aren’t I? Let me go.”

This guard doesn’t reply, but the guards who swarm to lay their hands on him and drag him back into the castle say more than enough.

  
  
  


He meets Taehyun’s lover, a few days later. It seems accidental, like Taehyun had been trying to keep them apart. He probably had.

Per royal orders, he may not leave the grounds, so he takes to prowling them like a caged beast. He’s walking the gardens checking for exits, weak spots in security that he might slip through when no one’s looking.

The gardens are beautiful, groomed and immaculate. But they are a demonstration, nature captured, manipulated and owned. He thinks of the wild forest, the gnarled branches and sprawling shrubs, the flowers that bloomed even in the worst weather. He thinks of the rose bush by his cottage, the ivy that crept up the walls, the way Yeonjun would lay his hands on it and the leaves would seem to curl toward him.

Taehyun is in the gardens too, by the lake, a tall boy close by his side. They’re talking, laughing even, a smile transforming the prince’s face. Beomgyu is ready to leave, allow them their privacy, but Taehyun spots him, too sharp for his own good, and waves him over.

The boy is called Soobin, older than both of them but not by much, and Taehyun introduces him as one of the squires from his own castle - _‘a glorified attendant’_ , he says with a smirk, then _‘a future knight’_ , with unmistakable pride.

Taehyun doesn’t introduce him as his lover, his _someone_ , the one he’d choose over Beomgyu, but he doesn’t have to. It’s obvious from their familiarity with one another, the way they lean toward each other, ever so slightly, the way Taehyun’s sharp eyes soften when he looks up at the older boy.

“You’re welcome to him,” Beomgyu says, flicking a hand at Taehyun, his husband. Soobin laughs, candid but not unkind.

“I know, your highness.”

  
  
  


That night, the crow brings him a ribbon. Rose-red and laced like thorns. He ties it around his wrist and it seems to dig in, cut tight.

  
  
  


Taehyun is mild, but detached. He’s easy to dislike, but that might be by design, a performance just for Beomgyu. It makes no difference, anyway. Beomgyu has no interest in liking him.

The following day brings princely duties - a public appearance in the courtyard with Taehyun. _Public_ is perhaps too generous, given the tightly selected audience gathered to meet them. Beomgyu looks out and sees exclusively the upper class, the rich, the near nobility. No sign of the ordinary citizen, the workers, the people like him, like he used to be. Taehyun doesn’t seem to notice.

They line up, an orderly procession to greet them. They offer platitudes, neat and careful, empty, humble words. Nothing substantial, personal. Nothing meaningful. The proper way to address royalty. Beomgyu struggles to respond, stunned by the ceremony, the hollow praise and admiration he is offered simply due to his title. They show him great amounts of respect, but he can’t understand the lack of respect these people seem to have for _themselves_ , that they would demean themselves so readily. He lets Taehyun speak for him.

They are respectful to his face, but he hears them speaking amongst themselves, the way they laugh, jeer, mock. The insults they spit. They call him low class, a hermit from the woods, unfit to be a prince. They say he’s dirty, ignorant, weak.

They’re wrong. He knows he’s strong, stronger than them all. His fists clench by his sides, the wild heat of flames licking at his collar.

Taehyun heard them too, and the hand he lays on Beomgyu’s arm grounds him, holds him back, but it doesn’t stop the anger simmering under his skin. He lets them have their fun.

  
  
  


The crow doesn’t appear that night. Taehyun lies next to him the whole night, gathers him awkwardly into his arms, not quite an apology but a sort of appeasement all the same. They kiss, leisurely, something that feels nice to pass the time. Beomgyu doesn’t feel anything more than that, nothing more than the soft press of Taehyun’s lips against his, and he knows Taehyun feels the same. They would both rather be with someone else, anyway.

  
  
  


In the morning, he goes out with his mother, into the city. They sit in a carriage and tour the town, elevated and elegant as they weave through the streets. She shows him the places she wishes she could have taken him as a child, the memories she wishes she could have made with him as she watched him growing up. It’s bitter, a sharp clench in his gut as she describes a life he could have had, the life she so desperately wanted for him.

He doesn’t want that life. He likes his own, he shares none of her regrets. He doesn’t want to hear it.

She tells him a little about why he was sent away, mentions the curse with tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. It was a great evil that cursed him, she says, an attempt to destroy their lives, ruin everything she and the king had collected, built, won. Hiding him was the only way to save him.

Except it never felt like hiding, not to him. This, trapped up in a carriage, peering down at the life outside, the everyday life of the townsfolk, the distance between them. This is hiding.

He longs for the open woods, the scratch of brambles against his legs, the hard press of tree bark against his back and Yeonjun’s skin warm under his fingertips. He feels the ribbon hot around his wrist and he vows to get it all back.

  
  
  


They’re due to move, tomorrow, far too soon. Taehyun is only a guest at this castle, and he must return home, back to his own kingdom. As his husband, Beomgyu must go with him.

He leaves again, that night - slips out of bed and out into the courtyard. He strides past the guards with his shoulders back, head high.

This time he fights against the hands on him, writhes and screams until he’s lifted clean off his feet, continues struggling until he’s punched in the stomach, then he’s gagging, winded and wheezing, but still loud, as loud as he can manage.

A hand clamps over his mouth as he’s carried back into the castle. He can’t quite catch his breath but he yells and bites all the same, screams until he chokes then screams some more. Nothing changes.

The guards drop him into the bedroom, shove him hard to the floor and lock the door behind him. Scrambling to his feet, he rushes to the door, slams against it, but it won’t budge.

And he takes a deep breath, opens his mouth to scream again but the bedsheets to the side rustle and Taehyun is sitting up, blinking.

“Beomgyu?” he says, a little concerned but not entirely surprised.

So Beomgyu prowls toward him instead, climbs on top of the prince, pushes his shoulders back down onto the bed, digs his nails in. Taehyun lets him, again, sleepy and pliant, watches him with lidded eyes and parted lips.

“I’m getting out of here,” Beomgyu says, snarls, hands wrestling at Taehyun’s clothes, ripping and tearing to expose his tanned skin, desperate to mark and taint and destroy. Taehyun sighs, spreads his legs.

“Okay,” he says, then the rest of his sharp words are swallowed up, reduced to moans and grunts as Beomgyu takes him again, pushes in too fast, too soon, bites hard, draws blood, the fire inside of him overwhelming, blinding.

He watches the bruises blooming on Taehyun’s perfect skin and wishes escape was as easy as this, that he could use this strength to bruise the guards as easily as he bruises the prince.

When he’s finished, he doesn’t feel nearly as good as he had hoped. Taehyun is passed out again, breath ragged but constant, and he had hoped this would settle him but there’s still energy pulsing under Beomgyu’s fingertips, blood roaring in his ears. The flames are still bright, hungry, and he can’t stand the thought of lying down, sitting still, so he’s pacing the room instead, seething. Waiting.

  
  
  


The crow arrives again, late into the night. This time, it brings a note, a tiny scroll strapped to its leg.

_‘You know how to find me.’_

Now, the ribbon prickles, scratches against his skin. The thorns dig in, blood beading on his wrist to match the wounds on the prince’s collarbone. He knows, he knows.

  
  
  


Taehyun is limping, in the morning. He’s injured, but he doesn’t mention it, doesn’t say a word. Beomgyu only sees the things the prince absolutely cannot hide.

And he feels a rush of satisfaction that he did that, to him, that he left that mark, inflicted that pain. That it lasted. It’s strength, power. Control.

“You tried to leave again, didn’t you. Last night,” Taehyun says as he buttons his shirt, tight up to the top. “The guards won’t let you.”

Beomgyu can’t stop the scowl, the snarl of his lip. “They hurt me.”

“They’re under orders.”

“From you?”

“God no. If it were up to me you’d already be gone.”

Taehyun finishes dressing, turns primly to look at Beomgyu, lurking arms-folded by the door. It’s still locked.

Beomgyu didn’t sleep last night. Judging by the ugly grimace the prince can’t cover fast enough, his appearance must reflect it. He must look worn, battered, disheveled, completely unacceptable for someone of his status. But the fire inside him, around him kept him alert, on edge. He doesn’t feel tired, not at all.

The ribbon around his wrist is still tight, blood still seeping sluggishly out. If Taehyun has noticed that, he hasn’t said.

“Your father gave them orders,” Taehyun continues, but Beomgyu doesn’t care to hear it. He doesn’t need an explanation, doesn’t need this assistance or whatever it is that Taehyun is trying to provide. It doesn’t matter who’s keeping him locked in here. He just needs to get out.

Then Taehyun won’t look at Beomgyu, head ducked, bowed as he speaks.

“I don’t hate you,” he says, voice gentler than it’s ever been. “I don’t _want_ you to go, not like that. I just don’t want you to be unhappy. And you’re not happy here, with me.”

Taehyun takes a breath, oddly shaky, almost vulnerable. Beomgyu feels the tickle of blood on his palm.

“I said I would love you, if you wanted,” the prince says. “And I will. I still will.”

Beomgyu sets his jaw, bites back the venom on the tip of his tongue. Taehyun still can’t meet his eyes.

“This doesn’t have to be bad.”

But Taehyun doesn’t know. This couldn’t be anything else.

  
  
  


The door doesn’t open until it’s time to leave. Again, Beomgyu doesn’t pack, though he has ample time to, this time around. He’s been given various items during his stay, gifts and trinkets and garments, each one costing more than he’s ever had, more than his aunts had ever earned. He’s leaving them all behind. They’re not his, anyway.

(There’s only one thing he needs to take, and it’s waiting safe on the window sill. For when he absolutely needs it.)

Still, he had seen Taehyun earlier, as he packed, folding clothes from Beomgyu’s wardrobe into his own luggage. Beomgyu had just swallowed the flames in his throat, for now, and watched. The prince can do whatever he wants, can waste his time however he sees fit. It won’t bother Beomgyu, it won’t matter in the end. There’s a bigger fight to be had.

It’s Soobin, who finally opens the door. There’s a look on his face, a pinch to his mouth that he tries to smile through, shortly, for the prince. Then he steps to the side and the thorns dig deeper, deeper still as the king enters the room.

His gaze sweeps over them, skimming past Beomgyu at the window to Taehyun by the bed. He takes a hard look at the prince, at the stiff way he’s standing. Most of Beomgyu’s work is covered up, but there’s still the bruise on Taehyun’s jaw, the cut on his cheek, evidence left behind.

The king knows, informed by the guards about last night, about Beomgyu’s failed escape. He can see in front of him what happened directly after.

“I knew we made the right decision. Sending you away,” the king says.

“Send me away again,” Beomgyu replies.

The king frowns, aloof and cold. A mockery. “It broke your mother’s heart, you know, giving you up. But I knew. I knew you were dangerous.”

“If you knew, why bring me back at all?”

“I brought you back for the marriage. For the good of the kingdoms. No more, no less. But you’re threatening that. Your behavior, your rebellion. Your violence. You’re threatening everything we’ve built, and I can’t allow it.”

“Then let me go,” Beomgyu says, feeling the blood dribble down to his fingertips. “Cast me out, exile me. Send me away. I’ll go back to the woods, you’ll never hear from me again.”

But the king shakes his head. “That won’t do. You’re here now, the returned son, the returned prince. You were anticipated for years, and now you’re known. Loved by the public, as misguided as that love may be. You cannot simply disappear.”

“I can. They lived without me before, they can live without me again.”

“They own you now,” the king says, with a step toward Beomgyu. “ _We_ own you. _I_ own you, I always have. And I did not get to where I am today by giving away my possessions so lightly.”

Beomgyu’s hackles raise at his words, shoulders taut, hard like scales. He feels wound tight, bright hot, red creeping in the sides of his vision.

“It’s easy enough to fix, though,” the king continues with a pleasant sort of hum. He takes another step closer to Beomgyu. “We could lock you away. Truly a tragedy, the poor mad prince, locked away for his own good.”

“I’m not mad,” Beomgyu says through gritted teeth. The flames are lapping at his collar again, fire brewing in his chest.

“No? Your anger, your unsettlement, your violence say otherwise. This must have all come as quite the surprise, yes? Your new life? The pressures of royalty can be a heavy burden, absolutely, and for someone so young, someone so poor and simple and naive, well. Everyone would understand that it became too much to bear.”

“Your Majesty,” Taehyun starts, but stops abruptly with just a flick of the king’s hand. The prince is staring wide-eyed at Beomgyu, at the blood dripping from his fingertips to the floor, at the faint emerald glow of the lace around his wrist, growing stronger by the second, matching the boiling of his blood, the coiling of his muscles, ready to pounce.

Beomgyu meets the prince’s panicked gaze and wonders, who is he intervening for? Who does he think needs protecting here - Beomgyu, or the king?

“Yes, that would do nicely. It’s settled. So in fact, you don’t _have_ to leave with Prince Taehyun today. Whether you’re locked up here or there makes no difference to me.” The king pauses, sniffs derisively. “But I suppose I would sleep better knowing you were far away from me and my family.”

Beomgyu feels his skin hardening, rigid armored scales forming fast, sudden strength and power. So much power. He feels the vicious points of his teeth and speaks through the flames in his throat, the last few words he can spit out.

“And if I refuse?”

It’s here that the king laughs.

“You think you have a choice? My son, you are never getting out of here. Never.”

The fire roars, swells and surges, and Beomgyu bursts with it. He crashes into the king, knocks him to the ground, blood-stained fingers sharp as claws. They sink in, too easily, and the king’s blood bubbles up after them, hot like the ferocious heat Beomgyu can feel in his bones.

Soobin snaps to action, far braver than Beomgyu gave him credit for. He puts his knight’s training to the test, rushing toward them, slamming into Beomgyu and trying to wrestle him away from the king. It’s his duty to protect, after all. Loyal to a fault.

But he’s unprepared, unarmed, and Beomgyu is untamed. He catches Soobin with his claws, slashes deep across his chest, drops him to the ground as well.

Taehyun yells, cries, but Beomgyu can barely hear it over the blood in his ears, the roar of the fire in his chest. He watches the prince scramble toward Soobin, clutching desperately, putting his slight body between them, a flimsy barrier. The protection is symbolic, more than anything. Beomgyu could tear him away, tear him apart, but there’s no need for that.

Taehyun has never been the enemy.

He makes two short strides away instead, back to the window, to the wooden box on the window sill, reverently placed and positioned, just waiting for Beomgyu to take. The roses are soft, but the thorns prick his fingers as picks it up, blood smearing across the carvings as he opens the box and pulls out the dagger.

“No, Beomgyu, please,” Taehyun whines, arms wrapped around Soobin’s shoulders, tugging his limp body against his chest. “Don’t, please.”

Beomgyu isn’t listening, he can’t listen. He steps back toward the king, settles back on top of him, still frozen on the floor, unmoved, right where Beomgyu left him. Blood is barely pooling underneath him, wounds too shallow to have done much damage, so it must be shock, more than anything, that’s keeping him stuck, still, docile. Easy prey.

And Beomgyu likes that, the fear. It feels like dominance. Victory.

He doesn’t wait a second longer. He plunges the dagger into the king’s chest, tears it through flesh and muscle, pries it into bone. Blood gushes out, hot and thick and luscious, finally. He feels it splatter onto his face, wash over his hands. His grip on the dagger turns slippery, but he just holds on tighter. Taehyun is crying, somewhere, muffled, gasping sobs, and Beomgyu doesn’t want to drag this out. The prince doesn’t need to watch.

He drops the dagger and digs his claws into the king’s gored chest instead. The wound is big and gaping, and it’s so easy now to reach in, grab hard and pull out the king’s heart.

It thumps weakly in his grip, once, just once before it stills, blood oozing thick through his fingers, down his wrist. It seeps into the ribbon, the red staining darker, darker still until it’s almost black. The green glow gets brighter, thorns latched in deep, rooted in hard.

He lets the heart fall to the floor, the wet thump echoing in the room. Taehyun is silent now, and it’s harder than Beomgyu thought it would be to stay focused, to not look over at him. But he doesn’t look. He’s almost finished.

He wipes a hand over his mouth, smears the blood across his jaw, his lips, onto his tongue.

This must be it.

He holds his breath, counts the seconds by the harsh beats of his heart, until it happens.

There’s a noise at the window, the dirty flap of wings. The crow caws, a herald of sorts, before the light appears. A green spot, a familiar emerald glow.

Beomgyu keeps his eyes on it, feels the blood dripping from his mouth as the light floats in front of him, around the terrible mess he’s made. Then he watches, breath returned in a rush, panting, gasping as it slowly takes shape.

Yeonjun crouches down in front of him, eyes glowing brilliant green.

“Take me away,” Beomgyu says, words wisping. The fire is fading, extinguished.

Yeonjun reaches out, cups his cheek, brushes his thumb through the thick blood.

“Is that what you want?”

“Please, hyung.”

Yeonjun smiles, and it’s relief, a comfort so strong, Beomgyu feels his heart stutter. It’s warm, so sweet and warm, like a summer’s evening by the river, like wild berries and whispered promises. Yeonjun kisses him here, too, and Beomgyu melts like he’s always done before.

Yeonjun tastes the blood on Beomgyu’s lips, savors the smoke on his tongue, and now, here, _finally_ , Beomgyu knows he is safe. He’s free. He’s home.

Yeonjun pulls back, but doesn’t go far. He’ll never go far again.

“Anything you say.”

A swirling storm of feathers, a flutter of wings, then they’re gone.

**Author's Note:**

> ✌️
> 
> [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/heondreds) ⋆｡ﾟ.*･☆━⊂(◕-◕´∩) if anyone has prompts i'm dry as hell


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